


Pour a Little Salt, We Were Never Here

by themanbeneaththehat



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Reichenbach, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:31:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themanbeneaththehat/pseuds/themanbeneaththehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock loved John, and that’s why he was here. Why he had to break his own heart and never see John again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pour a Little Salt, We Were Never Here

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Bon Iver's "Skinny Love"  
> Written for Challenge 3 of Let's Write Sherlock.

Sherlock stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom of an unassuming, cheap and dirty motel just outside of London. He stared into his own eyes, his face was still streaked in blood, staged from the fall. Water was running in the sink, warming up so that he could wash it off, but he could barely move. He was paralyzed, drained, numb. He should have told John. 

In time, he imagined, John would forget him. The ache of loss would slowly fade from his friend’s heart, and Sherlock’s name would soon be a word that John would never utter again. Sherlock would never forget him though. John was imprinted on his heart forever. John’s words he said while Sherlock was lying on the ground in a pool of blood echoed through his mind: ”He’s my friend, he’s my friend, please.”

Sherlock’s fist punched the dirty mirror, angry with the man standing in it for causing John so much harm. The mirror broke, the glass cutting Sherlock’s fist. Blood dripped heavily onto the dirty, cracked porcelain of the sink until it met the stream of the water and washed away as though it had never been there at all, save for the small traces embedded in the cracks.

Sherlock loved John, and that’s why he was here. Why he had to break his own heart and never see John again. He needed to remember that even though it would soon be as though he were never there, it was worth it for John. Dear John who was always _patient_ with him, who always said Sherlock’s eccentricities were _fine_ with him. John who _balanced_ out his life and helped him to be whole again, John who was _kind_ to him when no one else would be.

And now here he was, alone in this cheap motel room, knowing that he had hurt John so badly, and that it was his fault. He had played Moriarty’s game too long and now John was paying the price. Patient, kind John. Sherlock loved John, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell him. Instead he put up walls. John always tried to tear them down, but Sherlock built them higher and stronger. He couldn’t risk losing John, and nothing would make him lose John faster than telling him that he loved him. But now, it would be the greatest regret of his life to never experience even a single moment where he could call John his. His John.

John who loved Sherlock too and Sherlock knew that, though John didn’t know that he was aware. He didn’t want to consume John, he didn’t want to hurt him. John’s love was wasted on him. Sherlock didn’t deserve that man’s love. Sherlock looked around him, at the shattered glass on the sink and at his feet. The mirror reflected his new life. Broken, dirty, shattered to pieces that can never be put back together. 

He should have told him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little thing I wrote for the challenge. I wrote it in about 20 minutes. It probably shows. But it was a fun little exercise!


End file.
